It Was a Wednesday
by Rebeccarr
Summary: SEQUEL TO "LOOK AT ME"  She didn't want a safe, passionless relationship that would go stale within a few years. She wanted heat and burning desire.


It was a Wednesday. There was nothing particularly special about this day. It was just a Wednesday. It was as unremarkable as the day before it and the one before that. People flittered about, some aimlessly, others with great conviction and purpose on their faces. The younger children were sat back and revelling in the distinct lack of stress, thoroughly believing they had it made. The same couldn't be said for the older years.

A young girl burst into the Great Hall, looking flustered. She stalked over to her friends sitting at the long wooden tables with a look of pure hatred of her face.

She slammed her bag down on the table, sighing deeply as the contents scattered out and rolled onto the floor.

"Oh for god-," she muttered to herself as she bend down to reclaim her inkbottle that had rolled under the bench opposite. She stood back up and stuffed everything back inside her poor beaten up bag, not caring that people were looking at her like she could crack at any moment

It was common knowledge that Hermione Granger during exam time was one not to be trifled with. Her excessive worrying did wonders at keeping the adoring fans at bay, something that she was eternally grateful for. It also did wonders for the bags under her eyes making her look more like a 40 year old and less like her 17 years.

Hermione gave her bag one last disapproving stare and look around the table. Harry was reading the newspaper, something he actually enjoyed now it wasn't full of obituaries and war news. Ron, unsurprisingly, was eating with great gusto, sausage grease running down the corner of his face. Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head. Some things most definitely never change.

She loved people watching. During the war and its lead up, Hermione found that people watching was the one great release she had. She would sit at the table and watch as older siblings checked up on their younger ones, watching as they asked how things were going. Are the teachers being nice? Are they keeping up with their work? She watched as friends cackled over something that had happened they night before when Jack had fallen over the back of the sofa whilst trying to catch a glimpse of Alice as she walked by. She liked that she could watch such simple things happening around her, even whilst there was a war leering at them from the wings.

It was during one of her people watching sessions that she first noticed him, really looked at him. He was sat alone, pushing something around his plate with a distasteful look on his face. It wasn't like his usual faces; it wasn't a sneer, it wasn't a grimace. This was new, something she'd never seen on him before. He looked pained. She saw him drop his fork and sigh, a deep, shuddering sigh. There was something different about him; a Malfoy shouldn't be morose, surely? Shouldn't they be the picture of poise and sophistication, never letting anyone see any weakness in them. She got caught up in him, obsessing over what had caused him to show his flaw. Day after day, she'd sit and watch him as he sat alone at the Slytherin table. Day after day, she saw him falling even further apart. She needed to know what was wrong, why was he suddenly so miserable? Each day that passed, she noticed more about him. She noticed the way he's stopped gelling his hair back, and then she noticed how soft it looked. She'd often catch herself longing to run her fingers through it, feeling it catch against her fingers and she eased knots from the tips. Then came his eyes, his nose, his lips. Molten pools of mercury that seemed of pull her in, trapping her in their steely grip. Some days, she noticed, they had fire in them, lighting them from inside. But most days, they were flat, dull. There was no emotion in them other than despair. It hurt her. She wanted desperately to help him, ask him if he needed anything. A shoulder? An ear? But something stopped her. It always did.

She realised, after months of watching him, that the warming feeling she got when she saw him, that she had become so accustomed to, was something other than hate. She realised that she had, in fact, fallen for him. She never told anyone about her epiphany, how could she? The only two people she could talk to were Harry and Ron, and one of them was destined to marry her one day. According to the general public, anyway.

She would never act on her feelings, that much she knew. She swore to sit and admire him, even when he turned up one day with Pansy hanging off his arm. "It's not like he'd ever respond," she would reason with herself. Why would he ever tarnish his family name and image by stooping to be seen with a mudblood of all people? No, she'd never act upon her emotions, for fear of rejection and, ultimately, heartache.

But she could always just look at him.

And yet, that was never enough for her.

She wanted to be able to look at him, and tell him how she felt. She wanted to walk down the halls with him hand in hand, and she wanted him to want her. She wanted that so badly that it hurt. It was a deep set, aching pain that never left her, and every time she saw him with Pansy, it flared and snarled and ripped at her until she couldn't breathe anymore.

On better days, she was sure that Pansy was just a decoy and he knew how she felt. She was certain that he was flaunting it at her that he would never want her like he wanted every other girl that even blinked in his direction. On those days, she wanted to hit him and shout at him for being a heartless pig, but never had the courage to even approach him.

So she fought back. She would flirt openly with the closest male whenever he was near, just to show him she didn't want him at all. She would tell herself that all of this flirting was doing her good; it was weaning her off of him, making it easier to get over her silly little crush. But she didn't want to get over it. She wanted so much for him to return her feelings, so much it hurt. She wanted to be the one he picked out paint with for their first house. She wanted to be the one he turned to when he came home from a hard days work. She wanted to be a couple, one that went out in public together, and held hands, and were obnoxiously open about how much they loved each other.

But she knew she'd never have that. At least not with him. She was expected to date Ron and do all those things with him. She was expected to leave school and get a Ministry job and marry Ron. But she didn't want that. At one time, she most definitely did. She would have given her right arm to be with him, but now, now that they were older and wiser, she didn't want a childhood romance. She didn't want a safe, passionless relationship that would go stale within a few years. She wanted heat and burning desire. She wanted to fight and hate and threaten to leave. She wanted to turn to someone each day and thank the stars for giving her such a wonderful man. She wanted him, not Ron.

But she would have to live in disappointment because she knew, or thought she knew, that she'd never get what she wanted. There was always a flicker of hope, though, whenever she'd see him alone. For a brief moment, she would think that it might happen.

Hermione sighed again and looked around the other tables, her eyes falling on the Slytherin's out of pure habit. Her eyes landed on his usual solitary space and her breath was stolen from her.

Suddenly, all her hopes and dreams of the two of them came rushing back to her in a flurry of feelings and images. The two of them holding hands and walking through a park. Sweat and heat and blissful stretching pain. Tinkling laughter and breathless giggling as they chased each other around the room.

She wanted it. She wanted him.

All because of the look he was giving her.

He looked different. His eyes were strong and piercing but there was a hint of sorrow in them. It was almost like he was giving up.

She blinked gormlessly, not knowing what was going on. Did he actually like her? Or were her eyes playing tricks on her to save her precious sanity?

Their gazes met, fighting for answers hidden within the person behind them. She didn't know how long they sat there, on opposite sides of the hall, staring at each other. All she knew was that she was heartbroken when those perfect metallic pools looked away from her. She had to get them back. She needed to see them again.

So she threw all caution to the wind and rose from her seat, ignoring the confused exclamations from her friends. Nothing was real to her anymore, only his steel eyes and probing stare. Her feet carried her to him, almost like she was floating. There wasn't a hint of panic within her; she knew what she had to do, what she wanted to do.

She reached his table and saw him look up, but not at her. He tried to look around her, looking towards her previous seat. She watched as he rose from his seat slightly, trying to get a better view. She smiled.

"Draco," she said softly, "look at me."

And he did look at her, and a flash of emotion passed over his face. Relief, confusion. He didn't know. What was she doing here? Had she caught him staring at her one time too many? Was she about to scream at him and tear him apart?

She was leaning over to him, a strange look on her face. He braced himself for the full force of her anger. But it never came.

Because, instead of screaming and shouting at him, she kissed him.

She planted her hands on either side of his face and pulled him closer to her. It was an awkward and somewhat sloppy kiss, but it didn't matter to either of them. To them, it was the perfect movie kiss. In their minds, they were Romeo and Juliet, Perseus and Andromeda, Alec and Laura. To them, it was heaven and perfection.

It was a Wednesday. There was nothing seemingly special about that day. It was just a Wednesday. But from that day on, no one could say it was unremarkable.


End file.
